


Backlash

by Mithen



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: Dean is dealing with his title loss and Seth is dealing with the loss of Hunter's favor.  Dealing with each other is almost easier.





	

It’s a two and a half hour drive from Richmond to Baltimore. Two and a half hours between Backlash and Raw.

Dean limps out of the arena, gets in a car, and starts driving. He gets there in just under two hours.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have all that metal and leather weighing him down anymore.

* * *

He knows where Seth is staying, he knows where Seth always stays in Baltimore. He doesn’t know the room number, and he stands there in the lobby feeling like an idiot, swaying on his feet, his brain a haze, until motherfucking Kevin Owens pads by in his tube socks and sweats, jingling change in his hand. He’s got the title over his shoulder, because _of course_ Owens lugs the fucking title with him when he’s going to a vending machine. He probably brings it into the bathroom with him when he takes a piss.

Owens grins at him and Dean stares back. “Too sweet,” says the Universal champ.

Dean says nothing.

“He’s in 816,” Owens says as he feeds his change into the machine.

“Which one?”

Owens looks honestly confused. The soda falls with a solid, final _clunk_ into the silence. “Rollins, of course. Who else would you be looking for?”

Dean supposes Owens knows some things about who you need to see when it’s after midnight and you just lost everything and there’s nothing to hold on to at all. “Fuck you,” Dean says.

“You’re welcome,” Owens responds without a glimmer of sarcasm.

* * *

He half-expects Seth won’t even open the door, but he does. It swings open and Seth is there.

Dean doesn’t know quite what he’d expected--gloating, that malign, smug laugh, maybe just flat apathy--but he hadn’t expected Seth to look _sad._ His eyes are red and his face drawn, and for just a second as he registers Dean’s presence he looks almost worried.

And then he takes a swing at Dean and Dean ducks and everything makes sense again as they slam into a wall together.

“How dare you!” Seth bellows, shaking him. “How dare you lose my title, the title you stole from me, and not even to _Roman,_ to some punk-ass snotty floppy-haired wannabe who crawled in from Nashville and kicked you in the balls to take it!” 

It’s oddly satisfying to hear Seth saying all that shit about Styles, even if Dean kind of knows most of it isn’t true--well, the part about the low blow sure is, he thinks wryly as he shoves Seth away. It’s almost like having someone in his corner. Which is ironic considering Seth is still trying to punch him in the jaw.

“How am I supposed to take it back from you now, huh?” Seth is snarling. 

“--Gonna be a little hard to do that, ain’t it?” Dean comes back at him, grabbing his hand and pinning him to the wall. “Might not get a chance for years, you know? What was I supposed to do, hold on to it forever in your memory?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Seth spits back at him. “He doesn’t _deserve_ it, he didn’t _deserve_ to beat you, he’s nowhere near as good as you, it won’t mean _anything_ to kick his ass and take it back, not like it would have meant--”

Dean closes his eyes and leans against Seth, telling himself it’s to keep from getting socked in the jaw, knowing it’s not. Is it pathetic that it feels good to hear Seth complimenting him? Ah well. Everyone’s allowed to be a little pathetic now and then, for just a few minutes.

Seth has fallen silent and Dean can hear his breath snarling and sobbing between his teeth. Down the hallway a door opens a crack and someone peeks out, then slams it closed again. “We probably shouldn’t be disturbing the peace,” Dean says. “Seeing as you don’t have Hunter to protect you anymore.”

Seth jerks like Dean’s rabbit-punched him. “Y--yeah,” he says. 

Slowly he lets Dean into his room.

They sit down on the end of the bed together. There’s a Swerved episode running on the television screen. Seth hates Swerved. It’s almost like he’d been watching something else and just never turned the Network off, just let it run on in the darkness. They stare at the TV, watching the cosmic joke that is their lives unfold over and over again.

After a while, Seth says, “I got some of Styles’ New Japan matches. You wanna watch them? Maybe…” He stops and swallows, then finishes in a hasty rush, “We could maybe talk about strategies for beating him in your rematch. Maybe.” His eyes flinch away from Dean’s. The room is quiet except for the sound of the New Day tricking children into eating something vile.

Dean shrugs. “Maybe. And we could watch some of Kev’s older matches on Youtube after.”

He feels Seth start to say it: _I know Owens from way back; I don’t need your advice; I can beat him on my own._ Then Seth takes a breath. Lets it go.

“Yeah,” says Seth. “We could do that too.”


End file.
